


You're Dirty and You're Sweet (you know you're everything to me)

by dynamicsymmetry



Series: Pacify [16]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, F/M, Masturbation, Rough Sex, Smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 21:09:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3869875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dynamicsymmetry/pseuds/dynamicsymmetry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Given how far Daryl has pushed Beth, given everything he's done to and with her... It might be a little surprising the ways in which she can still push him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Dirty and You're Sweet (you know you're everything to me)

**Author's Note:**

> Before we get started, per the tags, I want to emphasize that there's stuff in here that could be interpreted by some as mild incest roleplay. Could also _not_ be, but yeah. So if that squicks you I recommend you take your leave. (Oh my GOD, Mollie, why do you make me do these terrible things.)
> 
> In other news, I'm very happy to be returning to this series a bit. I missed it. Title is from ["Dizzy"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CHgxmokM1x0) by the Goo Goo Dolls. Enjoy.

Hurting her just isn't really an issue anymore.

At some point he's still expecting to go too far. He's still expecting to force her to do something - or push her into a place - that turns out to be a few inches over a line neither of them knew was there. That doesn't frighten him nearly as much as it used to; it doesn't actually frighten him much at all. Almost all that fear has bled away, and all that's left is the joy of the continuous exploration of a country that seems to stretch on and on with no end in sight.

So he hurts her, and she loves it. He hits her, he whips her, pinches her, twists at her, chokes her, scrapes knives across her. Once or twice he's considered the idea of piercing her with needles - all that pretty, smooth skin that he loves finding new ways to cover with marks - but that seems like something he wouldn't want to jump into without knowing exactly how to and not to go about it.

He takes her through hell after hell and it all melts into soft, sweet heaven, a warm nothing-space in which they both float. So he's not afraid, and he's certain she's not afraid either.

But they do have to do something about the noise. Rick - tactfully - agrees.

They put in for one of the smaller houses. The sad fact of the matter is that now and then houses go vacant. The world is what the world is, and there's no sense in pretending it isn't. You grieve, but you're practical. No sense in no one living there. It's not a memorial. It's not a tomb.

A major supply run goes bad. Six people lost, four to walkers and two crushed under the wheels of the truck when some idiot panicked and put it in reverse instead of drive. The two people run over for the stupidest and most senseless of reasons: husband and wife.

They won't need that house anymore.

So Daryl and Beth have a place of their own. How they got it sucks. But they're sure as hell not going to turn it down.

They have this space. All this space, all to themselves - not really a big house at all, especially not given what they're used to, but it feels palatial, far more than they need: sizable living room opening wide into a dining room, kitchen, two big bedrooms. Porch. Lots of light. There's room for a garden. There already _is_ a garden, or the start of one, but Beth has big plans for it, talking about growing vegetables - which a lot of people here do given how practical it is, and she is and always will be a farmer's daughter.

It's perfect. Except for all the death outside, it's a perfect fucking life. Daryl can't imagine anything better. Sometimes he tries and he comes up completely empty.

And it's their own space to play in. All they want, not hiding anything. In any room. Anytime. At night, but now that he can so much more easily, with the time and the space and no physical constraints, he loves to do it in the day. He loves to put welts and bruises on her with the sun flowing warm and liquid all over her, making her glow, casting the lines of her twisting and writhing and arching in gold. She's thrown into a spotlight; he makes her dance.

She's so beautiful and he loves her so much, and he loves to hurt her, and he's not afraid of anything anymore. And there are still so many places it seems like they haven't explored.

And sometimes what really rocks him back on his heels, blows his mind, even freaks him out just a little... It has nothing to do with hurting her at all.

~

Very often there's no ritual to the way they start this. Sometimes there is, sometimes - especially when something is new and they're still navigating it - there's talk beforehand, and there's negotiation regarding how it's all going to go down. But more often there's just something that snaps between them, a look or a touch or maybe it's just fucking _pheromones,_ he has no idea, and it's like a spark in dry grass. Suddenly everything is in flames and he has her by the hair, wrenching her off the couch where they were doing nothing much on a rare afternoon off, practically hurling her to the floor. Part of him still sees this from the outside, knows what it looks like - accepts and moves past it. He knows. She knows. That's all that matters.

She pushes herself awkwardly up, one hand to her head and her tears welling, but she's flushed and her eyes are shining and it's not just the tears, lips parted and quivering, and he knows without having to touch her that she's already wet and getting wetter. All the fear is surface level, heat surging beneath it, and as he looms over her and she inches backward, staring up at him, all he can think about is how he can get her there this time, how he can take care of her, give her exactly what she wants.

Not that he doesn't intend to get his own here. Fortunately the two are almost never at odds.

"Daryl," she whispers, and he advances on her until he's standing directly over her, until she's almost sprawled between his legs, which is - of course - exactly by design.

"What?" He's still just standing there, eyes narrowed and locked on her, raking over her, letting her simmer. "You got somethin' you wanna say?"

And that's when he sees something flare in those big blue eyes, realization, _inspiration,_ and part of him feels a sliver of apprehension. Because she's looked like this before. More than once.

Usually when she's getting ready to push _him._

She's still holding the side of her head where he seized her, which he knows must still sting like a _bitch,_ and she whimpers - a broken little sound.

"Daddy... I'm sorry."

Okay.

Okay, so she can still shock him.

For a long moment he doesn't do anything. All the power and the carefully controlled and channeled violence is gone completely and it's just him, just _him,_ and he's honestly _gaping_ at her, because what the _fuck._

Did he even _hear_ her right?

Whatever was in her has faded too and she's gazing up, hasn't moved, but she's come back from somewhere. She was there, slipping into it, and she's returned, and though she hasn't said anything her expression is all question and the tiniest bit of anxiety. And he doesn't think it's directed inward.

She's worried about him. And he almost bursts into shaky laughter.

All of this, everywhere he's taken her, all the lines he's carried her across, and it honestly never occurred to him that _he_ might be the one who would need to say the word.

He's not sure he does, is the thing. He's not sure what he's feeling. Except... It's not unfamiliar. He felt a little like this the first time he hit her. Like maybe there was something wrong with him. Like something had been broken inside him a long time ago and it was still broken, and it would make him into a monster if he allowed it to, and he was frightened.

That hasn't turned out to be true. He hasn't worried about that for a long time. He's not broken, not like _that,_ and he can love her like this and it's love just as real as anything else he could do to or for her to make her feel good. Feel wanted. Feel safe.

But he threw her to the floor and she looked up at him and he's _sure_ he didn't hear her wrong. He's sure. She said she was sorry.

And she called him _Daddy._

He's still pretty much stuck on the _what the fuck_ part.

"Daryl?" she whispers, and she reaches up and touches his thigh, her eyes wide, tears still standing out in them but drying up a little. He blinks, focuses on her - her tousled hair, her delicate, lovely scars, the way she's half curled on the hardwood floor, the rug shoved crooked, and her hand is warm even through his jeans and her face is soft and he's just not sure. He's just not.

"Daryl... Are you alright?"

He just got done not being sure.

But Christ, looking at her. She's not scared. There is no part of her that's scared - not of him, not of anyone or anything. He would never scare her because he would never hurt her, he would amputate his own fucking hands before he did that, and whatever else she's thinking, wherever she's gone to bring this out of herself - and maybe it's nothing big at all for her - he doesn't have to be afraid of it. Of being broken. Of being poison.

This and her and all those years ago for him... They don't touch, except in how different they are. Except in their sheer contrast.

It's not just that he won't hurt her. It's that all that shit can't hurt _him_. It doesn't own him anymore.

She does.

She's starting to push herself up on her knees, still touching him, still concerned and reaching for his hand, and he can tell she's ready to comfort him if he needs it - whatever the reason - and that's when he lets it all flood over him again, flood over and into and fill him with cool fire, and his hand snaps into a sharp grip on her hair and yanks her head up, and a strangled whine slips out of her as her beautiful face contorts with pain and surprise.

"The fuck're you sorry for?"

She whimpers, and he would swear to any god anyone wanted: there's laughter hiding under there. Delighted... and maybe even a little bit relieved.

No maybe. Suddenly this is _fun_ again.

"I was bad," she breathes, curling her fingers around his wrist, her eyes huge and almost crystalline when the sunlight touches them. She's moving; his attention flicks away from her face and down and he sees that even how she's sitting - half on her side, her knees bent - her hips are rocking just the slightest bit, as if she's pushing her cunt against an imaginary hand. "Daddy, I was so bad."

So whatever else might be fucked up about this, his body doesn't seem to care at all; he's so fucking hard, hot and thrumming like an electrified wire, nerves crackling light, and her face is almost level with his cock, he thinks he can _feel_ her panting breath warm on him, and okay, yeah, however fucked up this is, he doesn't fucking care anymore. Whatever.

"Yeah? How?"

"I touched myself." Her eyes flutter closed, her neck arched and head stretched to the side, and when she swallows he watches the muscles in her throat bob down and back up again. That little rocking motion in her hips is becoming a good bit more obvious, her thighs squeezing against themselves as she uses them to pinch her own clit. "I know I shouldn't, but I did, I..."

He drops into a crouch, and as he does he shoves her back, not quite down, keeping his grip tight in her hair. She whines again and he fights back a grin. He doesn't want to grin. Not yet. That's not part of this game; it's a new game, but he thinks he's figuring out the rules pretty goddamn fast.

"It feel good?"

"Y-yeah." Every word breathy, small, shaking. Like she's simultaneously afraid and almost out of control with wanting.

"Did you get yourself all wet? Huh?" He plunges his other hand between her legs and cups her, curves over her and jams the heel of his palm against her and grinds down like he's trying to push something out of her. "You fuckin' tell me."

"I got myself _so_ wet," she whimpers, pressing herself up, no smooth rhythm in it now but all clumsy need, and _fuck,_ her talking like this, he has no idea how to understand what it's doing to him. Power but not like usual, controlled violence but not like before. "Got my fingers all sticky, Daddy."

 _Oh, sweet fucking Jesus._ He jerks her hair again and she yelps, and there's that grin, because she loves this. He had no reason to worry about _that._ Flush in her cheeks, pounding red, her mouth open and little pink tongue moving aimlessly like she's just waiting for something to suck.

He's right over her now, almost straddling her, and she feels so small under him; he could reach down and quite simply destroy her. The years between them... usually he's not aware of them at all. Suddenly awareness of them is coiling inside him, bright and hot and taking the weight of everything. "Where'd you put 'em? Tell me what you did. Tell me the truth and maybe I'll go easy."

Her lips stretch into a grimace. "I put them in my... my..."

"Your pussy? You get 'em in that tight little pussy?"

"Yeah." She tries to duck her head, can't, shivers in a hard full-body wave. "Daddy, please..."

"How many?"

Her eyes flick open, somehow even wider than before. "Wha-"

"How many?" Leaning down right in her face, teeth bared. Just a bit. He has to leave himself somewhere to go. He's almost sure he can _smell_ her arousal, sharp and sweet. "You heard me, girl, how many fingers did you have in your cunt? One?" He yanks at her hair, harder than before, and she moans, her tears returning and threatening to spill. "Two? Don't you fuckin' tell me you had three in there."

"Just one. I was too tight."

"Yeah. You were. You are." He's moving his hand now, kneading her, and she's recovered that rhythm, grinding herself slowly into his palm. "Dirty little girl. You know that pussy's just for me. You _know_ that." He pulls his hand back, and before she can anticipate, before she can flinch, he smacks it hard between her thighs. She twitches, yelps again, and he thinks he might just fucking bust through his fly.

"I know, Daddy. I'm sorry."

"Show me what you did." Back to rubbing her, coaxing her back into that slow, sweet roll. "You're gonna show me everythin'. Every fuckin' thing. I wanna know what you did, you little slut. C'mon. Get those pants off. Get everythin' off."

She gasps and twists when he releases her, falling back and groping at her jeans and panties, shoving at them; he drags them down past her knees and throws them away, clear across the room for all he knows, for all he _cares,_ because he sees what she's done to herself and even if he's not shocked like before, just for a few seconds he can't breathe.

She shaved herself. Shaved herself completely smooth, completely hairless except for a neat little triangle on her mound, and when she spreads her legs and stares up at him there's nothing obscuring the wet gleam of her juices smeared all over her lips and the creases of her thighs.

Well.

"Jesus, fuckin' look at you." He talks more during sex than he used to, but nothing even sort of approaching this. He has no idea why all at once it's this easy, flowing out of him without thought or pause for consideration. "Look at your messy little cunt. All wet again, girl, the fuck is your problem?"

"Said I was bad," she whispers, and she almost smiles, hints of it hiding in her voice. "I _am_ bad, Daddy. I'm really bad."

"Show me."

She pulls her plain blue tee off over her head, shrugs out of her bra, and leans back on one hand, breasts swelling small into the air, glancing down at herself and licking her lips. She's kept that look of wide-eyed innocence, just a little fear drawn over frothy eagerness, and when she lifts her eyes to his again she takes a breath and lets that fear rise up and over everything. "Do I have to?"

"You want me to beat your ass? You fuckin' test me, bitch." He leans in; he's undoing his belt and the breath she draws is sharper, her flush deepening, burning under her skin. "You just do that."

"Okay." She arches herself, teeth capturing her bottom lip, and she can't seem to take her eyes off his fingers at his belt, his fly as he slowly undoes it all, and his hands only stutter a little as she uses two fingers to spread her glistening lips apart and shows him, pink and wet, and his mouth waters.

He could just dive in there and fold her in half and lick her until she's shrieking and flooding onto his tongue. That would be fine.

But that's not what he wants. Nor does he think it's what she's going for here.

"That all you did? C'mon." He feigns impatience, palming himself and squeezing, hissing softly. "I already know how pretty your pussy is, girl. Show me somethin' else."

"Okay, Daddy." Her fingers move again, but she's clearly still _displaying_ herself, opening her outer lips so he can see her clit standing out darker pink and swollen. She ghosts the tips of her fingers across it and shudders, gasps, her eyes rolling white and falling closed.

"Jesus, girl." Not even entirely the game anymore. She's been shameless with him - completely shameless, _brazen,_ embracing _slut_ when he applies the word to her - but this isn't like that. This is deeper, somehow. Dirtier. Just a little more twisted.

A _fuck of a lot_ more twisted.

He gets his fly down and slips his fingers inside, groans quietly as he maneuvers his cock free, and when she starts rubbing her clit in earnest and he circles his hand around his shaft he could swear he feels his pulse in his _eyes._

"That's it, girl." If he's not careful he's going to come just like this, oh _fuck_. "Show me what you did, little girl. Show me everythin'."

"Everythin'," she echoes softly, and her mouth stretches into a smile so wide and sweet that for that second he's sure the mask slipped off and it's just her, and love thuds in his chest in perfect time with all the blood pounding its way into his aching cock. "Everythin', yeah..." She sounds almost dreamy as her fingers slip down to her lips and nudge them apart again, spreading herself wide so he can see when her middle finger presses into her cunt.

"Like that? What you did?"

"Like that, just like..." Her eyelids lift, her eyes unfocused and half lost in herself already, but they sharpen and she gasps when she sees what he's doing. "Oh God, Daddy, your-"

"What? You like this?" He slides closer and pushes his hips forward, showing himself off to her, running his thumb down to the base and giving himself a single stroke; when he tugs his foreskin back and a bead of precome gathers at the tip she lets loose a soft moan. "You want it?"

"Yeah, I want it... You're so big, oh my God." She swallows, her finger fucking slowly in and out, squelching in her wet and glistening down to her knuckles. "Please give it to me, Daddy. I'll be good, I promise I'll be..."

He braces himself on one hand and leans over her, fisting himself, and when he glances down he sees that drop of precome gathering and gathering and finally dripping in a long, thick strand onto her trimmed little bush. She watches it happen, lips trembling, and though she doesn't move her hand from her cunt he can see that she wants to. Wants to slick it onto her fingertips and get it on her tongue.

"Weren't good before. Can you be good now? Be good for me?"

She nods, biting at her lip again, and he doesn't try to keep back the smile when it pulls at him, even as his mouth is flooding with how much he wants to grab her hand and suck her finger in, lick it clean, go back in for more until she doesn't have anything left to give him.

"Are you my sweet baby girl?"

"Yeah, Daddy." She arches once more, bending her whole body up to him, fucking herself faster and harder and making her breath stutter like she's been crying. "Please, I want your big cock... I want it... Here." She drops her head back and moans, loose and helpless and rising from deep in her throat. "Right here."

"In your tight little pussy, baby? Want it in there?"

"Daddy, _please._ " The desperation sounds real and he laughs, leans in and seals his lips roughly over hers, clacking their teeth together, curling his tongue into her mouth and thrusting it against her own. She moans again, thick and heavy and throbbing from her into him, and all he can do is kiss her for a while, pulsing in his own hand and listening to the slurping sounds of her drenched cunt as she keeps fucking herself and doesn't miss a beat.

Finally he pulls back and gazes thoughtfully down at her splayed out under him, and as he slowly strips out of the rest of his clothes and watches her watching him, he thinks he's doing a fairly good job of looking like he isn't completely going out of his mind.

"Y'know, I'm not sure."

She looks up at him and gulps, her finger briefly stilling. "About what?"

"I don't think you're a good girl _at all._ "

And he drags her hand back and slaps it away from her cunt and takes her by the hips, flips her over so rough and sudden that a hard _oof_ bursts out of her, and before she can scramble up, before she can react at all, he yanks her back and hauls her ass into the air, fingers digging in so hard he knows for a fact that he's leaving bruises. She's burning under his hands, muscles twitching, and when he rams a thick finger into her she squeals and jerks against him, cunt locking tight around his knuckle.

"Daddy, I-"

"Shut up." He smacks a hand across one ass cheek and she yelps, jerks again, tries to push herself up on her elbows. "No, you fuckin' don't. You stay down there." Like he has so many times before - like how this _started_ \- he cups the back of her head and shoves the side of her face against the floor, enough force in it that the boards creak. "You're a bad girl, you're gonna take this now."

She whines, sways slightly; he grips the back of her neck as he spanks her again, again, until her skin is raw and fiery red all up her ass and down to the back of her thighs. She shudders each time, harder and harder like she's being buffeted by a gale, and by the time he pauses she's sobbing, her breath hitching, shoulders shaking under his fingers. "I'm sorry, Daddy-"

"Yeah, not sorry enough. Shit, you slut, you got any idea how you fuckin' _look_ right now? Ass in the air? Fuck, you're _so_ wet, you love every second of this." Two fingers in her and she lets out a little cry as she clenches around him. "Bitch in heat, bet you'd take anyone who walked in here. Any cock you could get."

"I want yours. I just want yours, I want..." She shivers like a leaf, gooseflesh breaking out all down her back and under his hands, and again he feels her muscles tighten, squeezing him and releasing and squeezing like she's trying to jerk his fingers off with her cunt. "I'm a good girl, Daddy. I am, I promise I am."

Up on his knees, slapping her again just to make her jump, and he bends over her and jams her face into the floor as he takes himself, lines himself up, strokes the head of his cock up and down her dripping slit. "No, you ain't." He pushes himself low and in enough that he grazes her clit - knows it because her moan twists into something more frantic - and he takes a scrap of pity on her, staying there for a few seconds and nudging at her, making her wriggle as she chases the touch. "But you're gettin' this anyway. Takin' it all, baby girl. 'Cause you're mine."

"Yours," she breathes, rocking back against him, fingernails scrabbling on the wood, trying to get better purchase with her knees. When he strokes her again he can _feel_ how smooth she is, hot and trembling, and he has to pull in a breath and hold it just to get himself under control. "All yours, yours, yours..."

She screams when he buries himself hard and sudden in her, twisting in his grip, doing that thing where she tries to get free just so he can hold her even tighter. She subsides seconds later, shaking and whimpering, skin beading sweat under his hands; her whimpers bleed into moans when he bends low and licks up the knobs at the top of her spine, tugging her head up by her hair and biting at the ridge of her shoulder. He hasn't moved inside her, isn't moving, and it's taking everything he has to keep from hauling off and pounding into her until she's screaming again.

It'll probably happen anyway.

"You want somethin', little girl? Were you askin'?" He bites down again, sinking his teeth in and feeling the soft give of her flesh; he's drawn blood doing this, though he's not sure he wants to this time. "Ask me nice, now."

"Fuck me, Daddy." Another whimper, but there's strength behind it, a harder kind of need, something that might grab him and drag him in with all the force he's using on her. She can plead just as strong as he can make her do so. "Fuck me with your big cock, Daddy, _please..._ Please, I want it so bad in my... in my... ah..."

"In your pussy, honey. You... _Jesus,_ fuckin' _say_ it."

She's nearly back to writhing, rolling her hips obscenely against him, trying to fuck herself on him, fingers spreading and clenching into fists and spreading again, the muscles standing out in her arms and back and thighs, hair cascading damp gold over her shoulders and her mouth open wide and begging for a cock that isn't there. She's _wild_ , no little girl at all but something bigger and rougher and _hungrier,_ far more dangerous, and for a few seconds he's in awe of her.

He's always in awe of her.

"In my pussy, Daddy, fuck me in my tight pussy, _God,_ just _fuck me fuckmefuckme-_ "

He can't exactly say no to that.

He pulls back, sliding almost completely out of her and heaving in a breath that scrapes the bottom of his lungs, and he _fucks_ her, thrusting in until he bottoms out and into a thudding beat - no buildup, just contained rage. He pistons, slams into her like a machine, making her hair into a ponytail in his fist and wrenching her head up, stretching her neck until the cords stand out beneath her milky skin. The only sounds she can make seem to be sharp groaning exhalations, harsh puffs of breath every time he drives himself in deep, keeping perfect time with his own low growls and the smack of the front of his thighs against the backs of hers. He loves fucking her like an animal, all teeth and nails and marking her, _claiming_ her, and this is that but also not, because when he does that she struggles like it's a mating fight, clawing and snarling right back until he breaks her down beneath him. Now she's sobbing, loose and yielding, moaning _Daddy Daddy oh my God please_ and he can't tell if she's in pain or so lost in pleasure that there's no longer any difference.

Probably isn't.

"This what you wanted?" He gives her hair a vicious twist, curling his fingers, and she screams again, only just muffling it with her own clenched teeth. "Dirty girl, this it? Huh? Daddy- ah, _shit-_ Daddy's cock in your wet little cunt?"

Someday he'll understand where this has _been_ in him this whole time.

Her only response is another sobbing moan, and when she cranes her neck just right he can see tears streaking her cheeks, and while once that would have panicked him, now it's like gas on the fire. He sees her tears and he wants to make more. Make her cry and lick the salt off her face until she's soothed.

"Am I better than your fingers?" Another wrench at her hair, head, neck, yet another sob. "Say it, bitch."

"You're better. Oh... _Jesus,_ Daddy, you're so much better, you're so good, so _good_..."

"Damn right. Ah, _fuck,_ baby girl-" Building up in him so hard and so sudden it's like prelude to fireworks inside his skull, and he drops his head between his shoulders and hisses in breath, his lungs like two closing fists and his spine stiffening. "Make yourself come. Fuckin' do it now or you- Or you ain't comin' at all."

He feels her unbalanced, almost falling, one hand lifting and groping for her clit, her groans tightening into breathless gasps that run together into a single long keening sound as she arches and tenses and releases under him, the walls of her cunt spasming around him, juices dripping down her thighs and onto the floor. He fucks her through it, bending close, whispering _Fuck, yeah, sweet little girl, oh you fuckin' slut, come for me, just for me, just for Daddy._

And she's just starting to go limp when he jerks out of her and flings her onto her back, sliding up to straddle her stomach, not overthinking, not even thinking at _all_ , just _doing_ it and letting his body have its way, take what it apparently wants. Dark power and fucking beyond fucking. She stares up at him as he takes his cock in his fist again, wet with her and with him, cups the back of her head and lifts her.

"Grab your tits, baby," he gasps - harsh and rasping and barely even sounding like himself anymore. "Hold 'em for me. Here it comes."

She already knows - she might be fucked halfway to oblivion but she still knows - and she curls her hands around the sides of her small breasts, shoves them up and together, arching her back to present herself to him. Her face is blotchy from crying, eyes red and lips puffy, cheeks and chin gleaming with sweat and tears and spit, and she's _smiling_ and he doesn't think he's seen anything so fucking beautiful in his life.

Except for all the other times he's seen her like this.

"Gimme your come, Daddy," she breathes, sweet and innocent and so filthy, and he thinks he might give up and fall down. Part of him has been backed against the wall of his skull this entire time, watching with a mixture of horror and fascination, and that part is very close to losing it entirely. This might do it. "I want your hot come. All over me, Daddy. All over."

He comes like a kick in the back of the head.

When he can see again she's still under him but he's released her and she's limp, hands loose on her breasts, the skin there and up around her collarbones spattered with him. He stares down at her, blinking, his brain spinning wheels in mud.

Her eyes are closed, her face relaxed. She's still smiling. He reaches down and touches her jaw, and she nuzzles weakly against him, humming.

"Beth."

"Mm?"

Okay.

He lifts himself off of her, careful, a little numb; when he looks around it's with the hazy semi-focus of someone waking up from an extremely vivid, extremely surreal dream. Their clothes all over the floor, her collapsed on her back with his come streaking her skin - these things aren't so weird at all these days. But the _shit_ he remembers coming out of his own mouth. Minutes ago. Less.

Coming out of hers.

He does have something he almost always does in these circumstances - one of their real rituals, something calming he not only loves to do but has always felt a strange _need_ to do - and as he lowers himself down beside her and slides an arm over her waist, he leans in and begins to clean her off with his tongue. She hums again, a sleepy, pleased sound, and he feels her fingers working into his hair. Curling and pulling, just a little, just a slight jerk. _See how you like it._ He smiles against her neck, scrapes his teeth over her collarbone.

This is probably good.

She murmurs his name when pulls her against his chest and runs his hand slowly up and down her back, fingertips tracing the bumps of her spine. The floor isn't the most comfortable place, but they've ended up here before plenty of times, and when he has enough of his muscles back he'll scoop her up in his arms and carry her to bed, and maybe they'll sleep through the rest of the afternoon and maybe they won't.

"Y'alright?"

She nods and he feels her lips curve into the hollow of his throat. She's barely moving on her own, her arms drawn up tight, legs slightly curled, vaguely fetal. This is what she does when she's been used well; it's another good sign.

"Jesus, girl," he mutters, lips against her brow. "Where the _fuck_ did that come from?"

She responds with something he can't make out; he pulls away just a bit and gently tugs her head up. "Hm?"

"You... tell me," she whispers, and smiles again, breathes something that might be a laugh, curls back in close to him.

He can't. He has no idea. It never occurred to him that she might not entirely know either. And it doesn't really matter, not right now; it was here and it was good, just like everything else weird and dark they've found together. Like before, he thinks about how it might look from the outside, and like before he decides not to care. Because she's safe and happy and _smiling_ against him, and as usual that's all that's worth a damn.

"I love you," he says softly, stroking her again, trailing abstract lines through the sweat cooling on her skin. And suddenly _he_ smiles, because really, maybe they shouldn't have, but parts of that _did_ feel so right.

"I love you, my sweet baby girl."


End file.
